


Believing not praying

by Canthre



Series: Bartimaeus works [1]
Category: Bartimaeus - Jonathan Stroud
Genre: A few minor OCs - Freeform, Gen, M/M, Other, Slow Burn, adjusting to being alive, adjusting to modern times, also the author is not sorry about anything, extremely slow slow burn, relationship issues ahead, the rest of Bartimaeus cast will make an appearance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2018-01-16
Packaged: 2019-02-16 03:51:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13045902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Canthre/pseuds/Canthre
Summary: When Khaba awakes on the outskirts of modern day London he is - cold, to begin with. And dreadfully unfit for the world he lives in. Also surprised he is, actually, alive.





	1. Prelude

**Author's Note:**

> Sooo, this was meant to be a oneshot at how Khaba and Ammet's fates played out. It turned out to be a... massive fic about the cast in a magicless world. Slow burn, and not only because I write extremely slow.

 

Darkness.

It surrounded Ammet from every side; pushed and pulled at him at the same time. Ammet pushed and pulled at his prison as well.

At least, he used to. In the beginning.

_How long has it been?_

The.. the audacity of that Ra-damned djinni astounded him still. Ammet was left speechless and terrified in the presence of the monstrous Spirit of the Ring, wondering frantically how he could allow for the tides to be turned so swiftly. He was so, so close to getting the Ring and he failed, failed, _failed_.

 _I’ll boil his body and shred his essence,_ Ammet thought in fury, swirling inside his tiny prison, _I’ll make him weep and beg and scream with iron and claw. I’ll make him pay, and that cursed Arabian bitch as well. I’ll make them bow before---_

After anger came screaming. Then weeping. At least, in the beginning.

Then, Ammet started to survey his prison. The amphora was small; though not as small as some of the bottles they used to---

Ammet counted his heartbeats when he had strength to transform into something with a heartbeat, but thinking of _passing time_ left him cold and numb. Sometimes he murmured the old hymns sung in shadowy temples of Egypt. Sometimes he pushed at the cracks he detected in the surface of the amphora. It was hopeless.

_How long has it been?_

It _was_ hopeless. Ammet had no sense of passing time, so he stopped counting.

Then he started to dream and to whisper, just to hear the sound of his voice. The strain on his essence was maddening – strong enough to _hurt_ yet weak enough to leave him _alive_. So he lived; and he dreamed. But in the end he always came to his failure. Then he wept. At least, for some time he did.

Darkness surrounded him and he was slowly becoming a shadow in darkness. His memories were like echoes.

From whispering came talking.

‘How long has it been?’ the shadow asked one of the creaks.

‘When will I get out?’

‘I'm sorry.’

From talking came longing.

‘How long has it been?’

‘Are those your fingerprints?’

‘Please.’

The prison pushed and pulled at the shadow; the shadow didn’t push and didn’t pull. From longing came pleading then whispering then talking then longing. The shadow didn’t need more.

At least, not for some time.

_Time, time, time._

_Left, right, left, right._

_…Across the sky, a blinding light; this is the King, a flame before the wind…_

The shadow wasn’t sure what this meant anymore. But it remembered it failed, failed, _failed_! There… there was the certainty of _failure_ and the pain of _loss_ that permeated its essence. Time passed with each heartbreak.

How long…?

The shadow stirred at some time; tried to remember why it was in here; tried to catch the fading echoes of words, but-

It has been too long.

There were – flashes. Dark eyes, carousel of colour, shadows dancing in light. Laughter and smell of incense, warm hands and chilly winds, markings on floors and _freedom_. The shadow grasped at them yet they always escaped.

The shadow thought of names; it remembered none.

_

_

_

POST SCRIPTUM

Light.

Walls of darkness dissolved into nothing. Pain stopped.

‘Hello, darkness, my old friend.’

Light and colour and _life_ stirred the shadow from nothingness. Wind bit at its struggling essence but the pull of _home_ promised peace.

‘I’m sorry I took so long,’ the shadow didn’t remember names, but it did remember tenderness. ‘Rest for now, my friend – future holds much for you.’

Bonds of Earth dissolved into nothing. Pain stopped.

Time passed with every heartbreak.


	2. Khaba I

 

‘Hey, d’ya have any change, mate?’

The voice startled him out of reverie. He blinked and looked up at the intruder. The other man was – actually, all sorts of repulsive. Greasy hair hung around his hollowed cheeks, which were spread to accomodate a wide grin. Some of the teeth were missing and the smell wasn’t too pleasant either.

Khaba decided it was below his dignity to speak with such a pathetic excuse for a human, but quickly concluded that it might be unavoidable. The café was empty but for the two of them, even the barista gone. ‘No,’ he said through gritted teeth, ‘Get lost.’

‘No reason to get all bossy, mate!’ the scoundrel said. Khaba decided that _scoundrel_ described the other man perfectly. ‘I was tryin’ to be friendly, ya know?’

 _Yes, very,_ Khaba thought dryly but aloud he said, ‘Not in a friendly mood. Sorry.’ The last word was uttered so sharply that even his alleged colleague got the message through his muddled brain and left. _Finally._

Khaba resumed to his staring contest with the plastic table. There were two dots looking suspiciously like eyes just left from his cup. Khaba scowled at them.

He didn’t care how he looked to other people, not after such a bad day.

Though if he were to be honest it was more of a bad _life_.

***

It started with --- waking up.

 _That_ was unexpected. He was pretty sure he shouldn’t be waking up. Although, he wasn’t sure why he should be sleeping in the first place.

.... was he even sleeping?

_Why?_

He had to remember --- what?

Ah yes. His name was Khaba. But there was something more to  remember, something important  --- no, it eluded him.

Everything was fuzzy. That wasn’t an unfamiliar feeling, though ---- no, what was it he was supposed to remember?

Before he could delve into the mess of his memories he was --- well, awoken again and realized that he was wet.

 _Rain._ It was raining. Why was it raining?

The next thing Khaba realized was that it was also dark and disgustingly stinky. _Wha_ -? How did he end up in a dumpster?

After all, Khaba was pretty sure he should be dead.

***

_Another day, another bunch of idiots._

It has been a month since – the Awakening, as Khaba called it. The first few days after were the worst. Khaba recalled little of that time. There was – rain, definitely, one of that world’s constants, as was cold and never-ending chemical reek, not unlike those retched oil lamps some tomb builders liked to use. Khaba had seen lungs of one such builder after the man choked himself to death, and – no, those images didn’t help him manage the panic raising in him.

It took Khaba several days to understand three basic rules: he was alive, he was far from his homelands and he could not say for sure if he was in the same world that he was born to.

There was no magic in here. For Khaba it meant a new kind of struggle – ingredients for summoning he used to find everywhere were suddenly impossible to get. And the rules of the city – for it was a city, grey and huge and ugly – were harsh on those like him. He had gotten into a fight one night and was left bleeding in some dark alley. Pain and hunger were almost as much a constant as the city’s grey stone walls and Khaba longed for death. _At least it was quick_ , a treacherous voice whispered from the back of his mind, _You cannot deny that Solomon was merciful with you, wasn’t he?_

In the end, anger kept him alive. And then he came upon a witch and her shop.

Except not truly a witch and the shop had nothing to offer him, save – a place to stay.

‘Morning, dear,’ Miss Dare said when Khaba squeezed past the dusty boxes filling almost every inch of space in the shop’s facilities. Miss Dare lived in her shop, which didn’t surprise him, but there was no true _living_ space. Everything bar the actual shop was storage room – including the tiny attic room he slept in.

‘Good morning, Miss Dare. Shall we proceed to unbox yesterday’s supply?’

‘Ah yes, yes, indeed. Mhm. Would you like some coffee first? There is a full pot back in the kitchen, if you want,’ Miss Dare said. She was an elderly but energetic lady, reminding Khaba strongly of the high priestess Neferure who tought him the basics of summoning.

‘I wouldn’t dare to trespass you property, madam,’ Khaba replied while eyeing the kitchen door hopefully. Of all the discoveries of this strange world coffee was the only one he appreciated. Miss Dare’s laugh interrupted his thoughts, ‘Oh my, dear! Was that a joke I heard?’

‘I beg your pardon, madam, I-‘

‘Ah, no matter. You’ll get used to English soon. Go for the coffee, I made enough for both of us.’

Khaba fled to kitchen before she could laugh at him more. Or before he did something drastic he might regret. 

 


	3. Khaba II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we continue...

There were bells hung over the shop’s door. Their sound was sharp and jarring when the door were opened, but it didn’t happen often. Somehow it made Khaba both irritated and thankful. Much like Miss Dare herself.

She was… a nice old lady, Khaba mused idly. Well-mannered even if odd, undoubtedly kind yet acute. On bad days, she reminded Khaba of Solomon. On good days… yes, she did bring out childhood memories in him. Khaba wasn’t even aware he could remember all of his acolyte days so well; usually he discarded everything he deemed unnecessary for success. So he recalled --- everything. Lessons. The way sun reflected off the stark white walls of Karnak’s temples. The way earth cooled when sunset came and went. And --- older things, like the smell of bread filling a mud brick hut-

The bells chimed and a woman came in, a regular visitor in their shop. Miss Dare called her a fraud --- as if she herself was better! Khaba sensed desperate _want_ for power and knowledge in the other woman. None of the many necklaces she wore had any power and her attitude was more than leaning on pathetic. Even her make-up, too harsh and too bright for her Khaba straightened himself behind the counter he slouched on and asked in monotone, ‘How can I help you today?’  

The Beaded Hag --- Khaba thought it was an appropriate name for the woman, seeing as almost everything she wore had to have shiny beads on it --- actually beamed at him. She sauntered through the shelves and tables to lean against the counter. Khaba leaned ever so slightly back.

‘Thank you, sweetness! I could use some help with a few cantrips, but – where is darling Eleonore? There is something I just have – _have_! – to tell her!’ the Hag giggled and batted her eyelashes at Khaba, ‘In private, though – this is lady stuff, my dear!’ Khaba thought that a little bit more and she would choke on her own giggling. Hopefully.

‘Miss Dare is in the back. She is,’ he searched for the right words, ‘Cataloguing the older inventory.’

‘Thank you, honey,’ the Hag said and leaned even further over the counter, ‘Would you be so kind to show me to the back room, then…?’ Khaba nearly gagged at the thought of getting within her reach even more and quickly said, ‘I’m afraid not. Miss Dare specifically asked me to watch the shop. Here,’ he gestured to the curtained doorframe, ‘I’m sure Miss Dare will be thankful for the company.’

Actually, Khaba was almost certain Miss Dare was going to loathe it.

***

Unfortunately for Khaba no other customer came when Beaded Hag finally emerged from the back room to pester him. She waved to Miss Dare one last time and said, ‘Thank you for the idea, my dear! You always have such inspiring ideas, Eleonore, how did you know exactly how this would work…? Oh, you need to tell me secret ways one day… Yes, yes, I shall. Thank you and may the spirits guide your work!’ Khaba couldn’t hear Miss Dare’s replies but he could definitely sense the irritation filling the older lady’s voice.

‘And now you, sweetheart,’ and dear Ra, did that wretched woman ever cease talking? She returned to her post against the counter and looked pleadingly at Khaba.

‘Would you be so kind to look at my last recipe? I’ve been trying for days to make it work and I’m sure it will be groundbreaking if I only mix it correctly…’ the Hag said and handed him a sheet of paper, scribbled all over with spidery text. It was a recipe for summoning incense; well, Khaba wasn’t sure about that but everything suggested so. It was a mess alright, but it seemed to lack one major thing-

‘Have you tried to add rosemary and cedar for strength?’ Khaba asked as politely as he could manage. Though to be fair, the Beaded Monstrosity never even noticed when he talked through clenched teeth.

She beamed at him again and said, ‘Well, no! How silly of me – yes, cedar, that’s what I need! I was thinking of cinnamon, you see-‘ Khaba interrupted her before, ‘No. Definitely not. Add cedar, you should not regret it,’ though _maybe_ if she had added cinnamon she would enrage the thing she summoned and-

Except there were no spirits in this world. Khaba resisted the urge to bang his head on the desk and gathered the strength to leave his safe zone behind the counter. He silently endured the Hag’s exclamations of gratefulness as he presented her with satchels of rosemary and cedar. He thanked her for visiting the shop just as Miss Dare instructed him to back when he first came to live with her. He inhaled deeply when at last she left --- and instantly regretted it when remains of her perfume made him gag.

Miss Dare looked out through the curtain some time later.

‘Is everything alright in here, dear?’ Khaba was almost ready to snipe at her, finally, but he controlled himself.

‘Yes, madam. How is your work going?’ he asked, taking in the thick layer of dust covering her entire figure. Miss Dare frowned at her now ruined dress and said, ‘Well, I do believe I have everything sorted out just as it should be.’

‘I’m glad to hear that,’ Khaba said automatically. Miss Dare’s gaze turned quizzical. Then she smiled.

‘I have something to show you later, dear. You said you were interested in summoning otherworldly beings, yes?’

‘Indeed, this is my area of work,’ Khaba said.

‘Mhm. Then you should be interested in this one,’ Miss Dare said and turned to leave, ‘Will you be alright if I leave for an hour or two?’

‘Of course, madam,’ she looked at Khaba strangely, as if his tone puzzled her, ‘Are you alright, dear?’

‘Yes, madam,’ Khaba answered dutifully.

***

Storm broke later in the night. Khaba’s room had only one tiny window but the rain still rattled harshly on the glass. Khaba counted the _ticks_ coming from his alarm clock and prayed for sleep. With muddled with weariness and sore muscles it should have been easy --- but the rain, that damned noise ---

_The sun was high in the sky. He couldn’t feel the heat, though --- almost as if Ra wanted to deny him those last comforts of warmth. By all the gods, he was so cold._

_It was so strange to see the sky again. He had little but darkness around him for… how long? He didn’t know. He didn’t count. The darkness felt suffocating and it’s coolness alien._

_He used to love tombs running deep below Karnak’s temples. Some other acolytes were frightened of the narrow corridors and low ceilings but he --- he loved the firmness of walls. The faint scents of myrrh, and knowledge, and power._

_Why was he so cold?_

_‘I’ll let you the sky and the sun again,’ he heard the memory whisper to him again, ‘I am not cruel so I shall grant you this last gift.’_

_Was this a gift? He didn’t know._

_He was so, so cold._

_He stumbled under the suns unforgiving rays and was made to get up and continue to walk._

_He was cold and angry and weary above all and ---_

_He walked and didn’t think of it ending._

_\---_ Khaba awoke with a start. Thunder rolled over the grey, ugly city. Rain still rattled monotonously on the window. The clock still ticked.

He pulled the blankets around him tighter.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was originally meant to be longer, but I decided to leave it as it is. Also, don't worry - we'll see Khaba having troubles with modern day technology soon.


	4. Khaba III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... aaand here we go onwards ...

 

Yes, Khaba was sure he was awake but --- he wasn’t sure how he was alive.

Though sometimes he doubted living, too. Especially when wherever he went he saw the exact same walls, exact same grayness, exact same sky. Or maybe that wasn’t the sky, maybe it was a wall as well. Khaba didn’t know. He didn’t know what made those damn walls, as well.

There were --- other people. He was vaguely aware of them. At the beginning Khaba believed himself alone in the entire world, a small world made of dullness and stench just to torture him. He could tell a good technique apart, after all. But then ---

\--- he saw other people. He saw light in strange --- windows? And moving boxes. And glittering symbols and pictures, much better than what even the imps could project ---

There was also noise. From those shining pictures, from those moving boxes --- not unlike covered carriages, he observed one time, though how did they move without horses? Maybe there were spirits bound to the boxes themselves, Khaba mused then, or maybe ---

\--- he didn’t know. He didn’t know, damn it, but he was almost sure there were no spirits. And he might have been all alone after all, since nobody ever looked at him. People in strange clothes passed him and spared him no glances. Khaba would scream at them if only --- 

Maybe Osiris condemned him to this special kind of treatment. Maybe that was the truth of what happened to sinners after judgment. Maybe the destruction of soul meant invisible life in this horrid world made of walls.

Khaba wandered around the walls with nothing but the constant _why?_ on his mind for days. He was invisible.

Until the day it turned out he wasn’t invisible.

It started with hunger beginning to gnaw at him. Khaba followed a stream of people for a few --- hours, maybe? --- just to do something. He ignored the horns and music and all the noise surrounding him just like the surrounding ignored his existence. He started to make out shops a few --- days, maybe? – ago, and then suddenly he could also make out diners that sold food. They smelt strange yet alluring to him and the variety made his head spin. At once Khaba felt as if wherever he turned there was food. And by Aten’s rays, he was hungry. He crossed the street with the crowd he’d been following for a while and suddenly --- he just couldn’t walk anymore. His tracks stopped right before one of those vendors with deep green signboard showing a stylized portrait of a woman. The big site offered a view of the inside full of bustling people. Somebody opened the door and Khaba could smell something strange --- a little bit burned, a little bit bitter and yet very alluring. The smell was accompanied by a promise of sweet pastry. Khaba stood there as if glued to the sidewalk, the street part dedicated specifically to walking people. Bustling, annoying insects that were still going around as if nothing had happened and Khaba really just had enough of this this this and gods above he was _hungry_ but what if that was what afterlife ---

Something hit Khaba in his back and he stumbled forward. His vision blurred for a second, making him dizzy and confounded. _What…?,_ was the only thing he could muster. Khaba turned slowly around and saw --- people. Men. Staring right at him. For a short moment Khaba felt a giggle rising in him --- so maybe he wasn’t alone after all! It’s been so, so long since he was touched and he could overlook getting hit just this one time. Like a well-mannered priest he was.

‘Any money in there, fella?’ the front man asked, his voice muffled by constant chewing. Khaba frowned. It wasn’t what he expected, but --- yes, well, he wasn’t expecting to understand what those people were saying, but he should have noticed that already. A part of him wanted to kick his own backside for such stupidity. Just as Khaba was to turn and walk away to ponder on this new hope he was shoved again. ‘I asked ya’ somethin’! Gimme money and get lost, fucker!’ Snicker went through the group behind the speaker.

Finally Khaba truly looked at his --- well, assailants. _Some things never change_ , he thought dryly before reaching mentally out and ---

There were no spirits in this world. People, however, seemed just as they always were --- cruel, greedy, predictable. Ants to command, something whispered in Khaba’s mind as he watched snickering die away and anger seep in the group. Common bullies, really, nothing more, he thought as he did the mental count --- there were  six of them, all young and healthy men, boys even, dressed up in a manner inconvenient even for this city’s fashion. They all wore tunics with similar markings so Khaba suspected they all might be a part of one gang --- cult --- whatever. It didn’t matter. Time slowed somehow and he still existed outside the world. The bullies cornered him to a side alley just behind the food vendor Khaba stopped before. Their leader again approached Khaba with head held high and a provocative sneer. The chewing sound was starting to irritate Khaba just a little, especially when the boy dared and shoved him into a wall. He was shouting something --- probably demanding money again, or maybe just looking for resistance but Khaba just couldn’t _really care_ \---

Khaba stood frozen, unable to even try and dodge the incoming punch. His head hit the wall and pain bloomed instantly. Khaba’s vision blurred stronger than before and he felt bile rising. He didn’t even register the second punch except for the unmistakable _crunch_ and _pain_ and _oh sweet Isis help me_ that came with it. Knees failed him and he sunk to the ground. Pain came from his left side this time, sharp and breathtaking --- he must’ve been struck. He distinctly heard the bullies jeering and laughing.

‘Show ‘im, mate!’, ‘Yeeah!’, ‘Show this fucker nobody fucks with us!’ was what surrounded Khaba in slowly creeping darkness. And then the voices started to fade, until he could hear nothing but his own quickened pulse.

And then the darkness swallowed him.

***

_The sun was slowly setting. It’s last rays colored Jerusalem’s walls scarlet red, a beautiful color of fresh blood. Somehow he still was cold. Strange._

_The people left some time ago and for that he was grateful, if only a little bit. Their noise, the way they laughed and mocked him, left his ears ringing --- the silence was better. The silence didn’t judge him._

_Apparently the sun did. His arms gave up a few hours ago --- oh, of course he couldn’t just fall to the ground, the chains secured him alright --- and the ache has subsided. It was peaceful, somehow. If only he could get just a little bit warmer ---_

_Something flickered at the edge of his vision and for a moment --- no, the guards were coming, the suns dying light reflecting in their spears. He could faintly hear the steady drum of their march. So that’s how it was supposed to go._

_Jerusalem looked like a desert mirage now, with sun making the buildings and palaces and gardens shimmer. It was almost painful to look at so he finally gave up --- and closed his eyes. Yes, that was better._

_He didn’t open them until the clang of armor announced the arrival of the guards. Strange, he could faintly --- remember? – the commander being a solemn man with an unreadable expression on his bronzed skin. Yet somehow he felt as if he should be sneering._

_Strange._

_And cold._

_So, so cold._

_\---_

_\--_

_-_

‘Shush. The water bottle will be ready soon. Shush,’ a gentle voice said. Was it part of the dream…?

Was he dreaming?

‘Cold,’ he said. His name was Khaba. He remembered.

‘Here, drink this,’ the voice said and something was pressed to his lips. He could smell --- ginger? Cinnamon? It was steaming and he swallowed eagerly.

‘Better?’ the voice asked.

‘Yes,’ Khaba said. After a moment he added, ‘Where am I-?’

‘Safe. Sleep for now. Everything will be alright.’

Khaba tried to open his eyes but --- no, it was too much.

Darkness swallowed him again.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, a bit late update. Not very substantial - yet - but we need a little bit of this almost onirism to move on. Khaba will get better... soon.


End file.
